Friday, August 10, 2012

Walking on Sunshine (Breaking and Entering)

I have lockout rage.

I have just returned from a long, nighttime walk with a neighbor and friend.  OK, it was actually a somewhat short walk-- because I had a painful stitch in my abdomen from walking with a belly full of my MIL's lasagna-- followed by a long talk on her front porch.  Anyway, I returned home at this late hour to discover I was locked out of the house.

Lately, this seems to happen to me with much more frequency... and it is very annoying.  It occurs, in part, because my three-year-old has a habit of playing with the doorknob lock buttons.  But, in larger part, the cause is my paranoid eight-year-old who is fearful of most everything these days.  No matter how many times I assure her I will lock up when I go to bed for the night, she insists on making her own rounds and double-checking the latches.

That's what she did tonight while I was walking.

I knew something was amiss when I walked down the driveway and discovered all the exterior lights had been extinguished.  Luckily, I walk with a flashlight.  The front door, purposely left unlocked by me, had been deadbolted.  The garage door would not open with the code (I suspect the batteries are dead on the keypad) and it really didn't matter because I was fairly certain someone would have also locked the door from the garage to the house.

The sliding doors and the french doors on the back of the house were also locked tight.

I am choosing not to divulge where I did find a key to the house and on which door it worked, because I may need that information again at a later date... and you will not.  But, suffice it to say I am now pissed, when I should be going to bed.

And to think, I spent the entire afternoon, evening and night winding down from my dental rage-- the topic about which I had intended to post.  I will save that for tomorrow (later today) when you can find out how annoying it is to spend all morning at the dentist with four kids, after being severely detoured by road construction, and while trying to have polite exchanges with witchy workers at the dental office only to discover you can look forward to more of the same because your six-year-old needs three fillings and a crown. 


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